


Dragonball: Alternate Evil

by Pivitor



Category: Dragon Ball
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pivitor/pseuds/Pivitor
Summary: Six years after the defeat of Majin Buu, Goku, Gohan, and their friends find themselves up against a new enemy, one smarter, and with access to more resources and worlds, than any they've ever faced before. Nearing the limits of their bodies' capabilities, the Z Fighters will have to work harder, and fight smarter, than ever before if they're going to keep surpassing their limits and take down this new threat!





	Dragonball: Alternate Evil

**Author's Note:**

> This is my own continuation of Dragonball Z, ignoring the epilogue, GT, and Super. I have nothing against them (well, I don't like GT, but I think Super is pretty fun), but Toriyama was exploring a lot of interesting ideas near the end of Z that the canon continuations have largely ignored, and I think that's a shame. This is the sort of direction I would have liked to have seen the franchise go in, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do.

It wasn’t often that they all got together when the world wasn’t about to end. That fact didn’t elude the group of friends and allies who were now gathered at the home of the world’s richest woman; for some it was a cause for rejoicing, while others it only made nervous. Vegeta, of course, fell into the latter group.

The final prince of the Saiyans stood restlessly in the Capsule Corp lobby, staring out the open patio doors at the dozens of guests gathered on the grounds, almost all of them seated in expensive white chairs, arranged into pristine rows and split in two by a long aisle down the center. They were dressed to the nines in snappy suits and elaborate dresses; Vegeta, in contrast, wore boots and a blue jumpsuit, his arms crossed and his face creased into a familiar frown. It was about the most effort one could expect from Vegeta; at least he’d forgone the body armor this time.

“Why so glum, Vegeta? Weddings are supposed to be happy! Or, at least, that’s what Chi Chi tells me...”

Son Goku greeted his fellow Saiyan with a playful slap on the back; if Vegeta looked out of place in his casual clothes, Goku looked just as out of place in his expensive tuxedo, if only because it was such an unexpected look for him. He didn’t care, of course; instead he was grinning ear-to-ear. It wasn’t every day his son got married, after all!

“True Saiyan weddings aren’t about happiness,” grumbled Vegeta. “They’re about murder.”

“Oh Vegeta,” laughed Goku heartily, “You’re a riot!” Vegeta grimaced; he’d been deathly serious. For once, even the eternally oblivious Goku could sense the shift in mood. “Seriously, what’s with you? I thought you were all _for_ love now!”

Vegeta couldn’t help but to wince. After everything he’d been through with Babadi and Buu he’d finally come to accept, even _embrace_ his family and his life on Earth, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with everyone else knowing it. “A big showy ceremony like this is a waste, Kakkarot. What’s the point?”

Goku shrugged, smiling wistfully. “Hey, I get it, it seems like a lot. Chi Chi and I were married on top of a mountain by her Dad. _None_ of our friends were there. But Gohan’s very different from either of us. He’s sentimental; while I’m always off looking for the next challenge, all he wants to do is bring us all together. I guess I’ve finally learned to appreciate that.”

As always, Vegeta was taken aback by Goku’s sudden burst of insight. As always, he refused to acknowledge it. “Your boy has never understood that we’re warriors, not friends. All we have in common is the fight. All of us together like this, we’re just tempting fate.”

“Wow Vegeta, I never took you for the superstitious type!” Goku scratched his head and chuckled, uncomfortable with being the voice of reason. “Look, I’m itching for a good fight as much as you are, but you’ve got to learn to appreciate peace while you’ve got it!”

Suddenly the sharp tones of an organ cut off the two Saiyans.

“Goku, it’s time!”

Startled, Goku looked down to see his wife Chi Chi grasping his hand. Chi Chi was a woman who often left Goku in awe for a number of reasons, but the most significant was her tremendous temper. In such a stressful situation he’d expected her to fall apart, but instead, she looked more at peace than Goku’d ever seen her. It wasn’t just that Gohan, her pride and joy, was getting married; it was that Chi Chi was _in_ the wedding, having truly befriended Videl during their ordeal with Majin Buu, becoming her confidant, one of the few people on Earth who understood how Videl felt watching Gohan risk his life in universe-shattering fights to the death. For once, Chi Chi had absolutely no reason to complain.

“Remember, Vegeta...” Goku flashed his fingers, in the shape of a ‘v,’ as he and his wife began walking down the aisle. “...Peace!”

Vegeta would have rolled his eyes, if that very action didn’t feel so beneath him.

Son Goku truly felt that peace, too. Just ahead of him, his best friend Krillin’s young daughter Marron scattered flower petals to and fro. At the end of the aisle stood the Namekian warrior Piccolo, his green body’s significant stature stuffed uncomfortably into a tuxedo, yet clearly, uncharacteristically beaming with pride over his role as best man. Beside him was Son Gohan himself, positively brimming with emotion. His smile threatened to swallow up his face.

Next marched Krillin, arm-in-arm with one of Videl’s beautiful young friends, a former classmate from their time at Orange Star High School. Looking up at his partner, Krillin swallowed nervously before turning his head to the crowd and locking eyes with his wife, Eighteen. Eighteen frowned the way only she could, with a cold glare that could shatter steel, before suddenly winking. Krillin felt his heart doing loop-de-loops.

The next man through the doors was not a groomsman at all, but Videl’s friend Sharpner. The two were close enough that there was never any doubts that he’d be a part of her bridal party, and he proudly wore a powder blue tuxedo that matched the bridesmaids’ dresses. At first, Gohan feared that none of his groomsmen would want to walk with Sharpner, but Dende had volunteered quickly and enthusiastically. After everything he and Gohan had been through, fighting for their lives together as children on Namek, there was nothing Dende wouldn’t do for him; that said, this was no burden to the young Namekian. As a diety and part of a race that was technically both asexual _and_ genderless, he shared none of the Earthlings’ gender hang-ups.

Waiting his turn to walk next, Gohan’s little brother, Son Goten, tried to swat away kisses and cheek-squeezes from his partner, a giggly blonde bridesmaid who was absolutely taken by the adorable eight-year-old she’d been paired up with. She finally got serious once it was time to begin walking, but by then Goten’s mind had begun to wander anyway. He spotted his best friend Trunks in the crowd and waved enthusiastically at him; Trunks stuck his tongue out in reply.

Videl’s Maid of Honor, Erasa, was the next to emerge, the final member of the bridal party. Gohan clenched his fists in anticipation, trying to contain his nerves, his enthusiasm, his anticipation for what he knew was coming next.

The organ trilled, and sure enough, a few moments later Videl herself walked into the courtyard, arm-in-arm with her father, the most famous man in the world, Mr. Hercule Satan. Surprisingly, Hercule wasn’t wearing his Championship belt, nor had he plastered Capsule Corp in advertising or televised the wedding, despite every network on Earth literally tossing money at his feet for the rights. Videl had always been Hercule’s soft spot, and her special day had reigned him in more than anything else ever had. Instead, he kissed his daughter on the forehead and handed her off to Gohan, whimpering gruffly and trying to hide his tears as he took his seat next to Majin Buu, who was fast asleep with his dog resting on his ample lap.

Neither Gohan nor Videl really even heard Dr. Briefs -- who, in typical fashion, didn’t remember when or why he’d gotten ordained -- as he began the ceremony. Gohan lifted Videl’s veil, in awe of his bride; she often thought of herself as a tomboy, but to Gohan she was the most beautiful woman on Earth. Videl beamed as she adjusted Gohan’s absolutely useless glasses, which he’d started wearing after he’d graduated and begun job searching; to her they served as a constant reminder that one of the most powerful men on the planet Earth wanted nothing more than peace, than a mundane, quiet job, and that humility meant the world to her.

They’d been through so much together in such a brief time, and instead of driving them apart, it had only brought them closer together, solidified their relationship into something unshakable. Neither had ever really found the words to articulate this before, but when Dr. Briefs suddenly sneezed, blowing the index cards with his speech written on them from his hands and scattering them across the podium, Gohan seized the opportunity.

“Videl! I...” Gohan’s face flushed and his voice cracked for a moment, but he quickly pushed forward with his declaration. “...I’ve been fighting my whole life. It’s just something I’ve had to do because I’m strong, but I’ve never liked it. Watching you, though, seeing how much you _love_ to fight, how you never give up no matter how strong your opponent or how great the odds, how you never gave up on _me_...You make me want to fight, Videl. I want to protect you, to fight side-by-side with you, to protect the world with you!”

“Gohan, you’ve taught me so many ways to be strong. You haven’t just made me a better fighter, but a better friend and partner. You’ve shown me how to be there for someone, how to express myself, how to achieve my goals!” Videl was so excited she was actually jumping a little bit, gripping the massive folds of her dress in her fists. “I want to take on the entire world with you, Gohan!”

“So, is that an ‘I do’?”

“Of course it is, you dork!”

Dr. Briefs finally stood, his hair mussed and glasses askew, his note cards crumpled and disheveled in his hands. “Did I miss anything?”

“The vows,” replied Piccolo in perfect deadpan, without ever turning his head towards the podium. Several in the audience laughed.

“Oh my!” exclaimed the poor old professor, flustered. “Well then, I guess that, by the power vested in me by West City, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss the bride!”

Gohan and Videl practically leapt at each other to get that kiss going.

*******

Bulma spared no expense on the reception. Perfectly poised Capsule Corp employees wheeled plates of exquisite food out to the many tables scattered throughout the compound’s lawn, although they had to set aside an entire buffet solely for Buu and Yajirobe, who spent the entire evening stuffing their faces and only nearly got into a physical altercation once or twice. Alcohol poured freely at the open bar, where Oolong and Master Roshi noshed the night away; Hercule eventually joined them, alternating wildly between toasting his daughter’s happiness and bemoaning his losing her. Bulma eventually bashed all three in the head when they began singing drunken, perverted shanties.

The mother/son and father/daughter dances got the tears flowing, but Eighteen and Krillin provided the biggest surprise on the dance floor as they spun and jived their way through a surprisingly complex routine together. Yamcha gave some baseball pointers to Sharpner and signed a few autographs for he and his friends. Egged on by Trunks and Goten, Chaozu used his telekinesis to take control of the bouquet and lead Videl’s friends on a wild goose chase; all it took was a stern look from Tien to put that game to an end. Chaozu was too embarrassed to even _look_ at the garter; it wound up in the hands of Goku, who was unsure not only of what it was, but why Chi Chi was so mad at him for catching it.

Finally, Piccolo stood, tapping his wine glass until the din of the crowd died down. “Apparently I have to give a speech,” he began, not quite sure why so many in the crowd found that funny. “Romance isn’t my area of expertise, since I reproduce asexually by laying eggs out of my mouth, but I do understand love, and that’s only because of Gohan. He was the first person to show me what it was like to be loved, that I could be something more than a demon. Everything that I am now, I am because of him. It’s been a pleasure to help train him, and to watch him grow into a fine young man. I couldn’t be more happy for him and Videl.” He grimaced, his cheeks turning a deep shade of purple. “The end.”

Gohan didn’t waste a moment in hugging his mentor, and Videl immediately followed suit; Piccolo’s cheeks blushed even further, and if it had been anyone else hugging him, he would have flown away, or blasted them -- or, obviously, never have given a speech in the first place. Instead, though, he endured, even though he could swear he could hear Vegeta laughing at him, _somewhere_.

The attention didn’t stay on him long, though, as Bulma’s assistants quickly wheeled out a wedding cake that was quite literally the size of a building. As the assistants cut and delivered slices with blinding speed, Chi Chi just stared up at the massive confection in awe.

“Bulma, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble!”

“Please,” dismissed Bulma with the wave of her hand, “I have more money than I’ll ever know what to do with, and at least a decade before I get to worry about Trunks getting married.” She looked down for a moment at her ever-growing stomach, cradling it with one of her hands. “And even longer for this little one. I’ve got to have _some_ fun.”

Her head suddenly snapped towards the sky, her voice instantly elevating from a pleasant tone to an ear-piercing scream. “Besides, it’s not like _I_ ever got to have a real wedding!”

Vegeta immediately came floating down from his perch atop Capsule Corp, where he’d been hiding out; he knew the dangers of ignoring his wife when she took _that_ tone. “Woman, can’t you go a single day without bringing that up?!”

“I’m pregnant!” cried Bulma in reply, immediately playing her greatest trump card. “It’s my right to complain about _anything I want_!”

“Your family’s weird, Trunks,” said Goten casually as he lay on the ground a few tables away from the arguing couple, clutching his engorged stomach, half a dozen empty cake plates scattering the floor around him and frosting smearing his face. He burped.

“Nah,” replied Trunks, equally covered in cake crumbs and frosting, “What’s weird is that every time they do this they start kissing when they’re done.”

Goten stuck his tongue out in disgust. “Gross!”

“Not as gross as your brother kissing Videl back at the wedding!” proclaimed Trunks. “I thought he was gonna eat her up, like Majin Buu!”

Trunks expected some sort of retort, or at least an objection, but instead, he saw that Goten’s gaze had drifted towards his brother, who was currently floating above the dance floor (and its inhabitants), blissfully dancing through the air with Videl. They hadn’t a care in the world.

Now, Trunks wasn’t exactly the most perceptive or empathetic person on the planet; few nine-year-old boys are, but ones raised by Vegeta and Bulma Briefs are at an even _greater_ disadvantage in that area. Still, even _he_ could see how much Goten already missed his brother. He couldn’t just come out and ask Goten if he was okay, like some kind of _loser_ , but he had to do _something_.

“Hey Goten, wanna see something cool?”

Goten immediately snapped out of his doldrum. “Yeah!”

And the two boys were off, jumping over chairs and ducking beneath legs and quickly making their way into Capsule Corp. They ran for what seemed like forever down long, blandly antiseptic hallways, eerily quiet except for the echoing of their footsteps and the squeaking of their sneakers. They were deep within the bowels of the compound.

“So my mom hired, like, the best baker in the world to make Gohan’s cake!” explained Trunks between pants. “And she got him to make a cake special for her too! She tried to hide it from us, but I know she’s got it in her special vault, and guess what? I figured out the door code!”

Goten would’ve been more impressed if his stomach hadn’t already completely hijacked his train of thought. “What _kind_ of cake?!”

“ _Every_ kind of cake!” exclaimed Trunks, practically manic. “It’s got, like, twenty layers, Goten!”

Goten nearly slipped on his own drool.

“It’s right around the corner!” A faint purple aura of energy burst to life around Trunks, propelling him into the air at startling speeds. “Last one there’s gotta eat the carrot cake layer!”

“No fair!” cried Goten as he too focused his chi, letting it explode around him and quickly catching up with his best friend. Both laughed gleefully as they rounded the corner, filled with that infectious energy that only young children seem to contain.

Then they ran smack-dab into two unsuspecting figures standing in the middle of the hallway.

All four were sent sprawling; Goten and Trunks had somersaulted and landed on their feet, but the other two figures were far slower, and far less nimble, and also far older, so it took them a few moments to help each other up. The first was a tall woman with long, jet-black hair, probably in her mid fifties (although to the two boys she might as well have been a hundred years old); the second was a tiny anthropomorphic dog, with brown fur and a white muzzle; both were dressed in Capsule Corps uniforms.

“Do you work for my mom?” asked Trunks as he eyed the woman, a suspicious tone in his voice. “I’ve never seen either of you around here before!”

“W-we’re temporary workers, just for the wedding!” answered the woman, who was visibly trembling. “Your mother, she assigned us to guard her vault!”

Trunks floated into the air, circling the woman, setting her even more on edge. “That’s a boring job,” he said, “But if you’re still doing temp work at _your_ age, I guess that’s probably all you can handle, huh?” A vein bulged in the woman’s forehead.

Meanwhile, Goten inched closer and closer to the clearly uncomfortable dog man; he was curious, not malicious, but that didn’t pacify the poor canine. “Can I pet you?” asked Goten.

Summoning all the courage she could muster, the woman grabbed Trunks by the shoulder and pushed him to the ground. “Look, I...I just need you to turn around, okay? The safe’s off limits to _everyone_ tonight.”

Laughing yet again, the two boys leapt over the workers and continued their charge. “You’ll have to catch us then!”

Suddenly, though, all four were struck by a massive vibration, a deep burst of bass reverberating down the hall. The whole compound seemed to shake, and ripples of intense white light flashed past them for a brief, nearly blinding moment.

Goten looked towards his friend, confused. Bulma had some weird stuff; was this _supposed_ to be happening? Trunks, though, was just as taken aback as he was. “Something’s wrong,” he said nervously, taking a martial arts stance as his aura again burst to life around him. Goten followed suit.

“Whatever’s goin’ on, it better not’ve messed up our cake!”

*****FIVE HOURS EARLIER*****

“Sir, are you _really_ sure this is a good idea?”

Mai pulled back her jet-black hair, donning a (stolen) Capsule Corp uniform and trying to fight back the waves of worry reverberating throughout her body. She’d been serving Emperor Pilaf for most of her life, and when things were peaceful, it was a dream job. But when he got that look in his eyes, when he started ranting about world domination, about Dragonballs, about that darned _Goku_ , well, that’s when things always went bad. _Always_.

“Of course I am, Mai!” replied Pilaf. The tiny tyrant, only about two feet tall and blue, with pointy ears and particularly bulgy facial features, had abandoned his typical regal regale for his own Capsule Corp uniform, this one custom made (there were none available to steal in his size). He eyed his reflection happily in a nearby mirror, a devious, manic grin filling his pint-sized face. “Goku and his friends may be the strongest people on Earth, but they’re about as smart as a bag of bricks! My mistake in the past has been trying to face them head-on! If we use cunning they’ll never see us coming!”

“But why do we want to do this again?” Shuu dropped his purple ninja uniform and katana to the ground with a sigh, despondent to be separated from either. Picking up his _own_ Capsule Corp disguise, he continued, “Don’t you already got everything you could ever need here in the palace? With _us_?”

Pilaf tossed a rolled-up measuring tape at the dog man. “No, I don’t! Look around, Shuu! Do you see _revenge_ here?!”

Shuu looked back and forth nervously, legitimately not sure how he was supposed to answer. “No? Maybe? What does revenge look like? Is it red?”

Before Pilaf could leap at Shuu in a rage, Mai stepped between them. “My Lord, of course we want you to be happy, but it’s been decades since we’ve seen these people. Last time we tried to take them on a green demon tried to drown us in the ocean! All these years of peace, they’ve been nice! I’ve seen you smile, Lord Pilaf! Why risk it now?”

“Peace?” Pilaf seemed genuinely puzzled. “It hasn’t been _peace_ , Mai. I’ve been _biding my time_ , waiting for them to grow sloppy, to forget about me, and it worked! They just keep the Dragonballs together in some vault all the time like they’re nothing! They’re more worried about some wedding than the most powerful objects on the entire planet!

“And _that’s_ why they’ll lose, and why _we’re_ finally going to win!”

Much to _all_ of their amazement, Pilaf wasn’t wrong. Other than a tense moment with Vegeta -- and to be fair, he wasn’t exactly welcoming to _any_ of the staff -- things went exactly as he planned. It had been easy to get hired to work the wedding; Bulma needed so much help that she didn’t even vet every employee personally. As soon as the festivities began they’d been able to slip away undetected, and Pilaf’s very expensive scanner had eventually been able to crack the code to Bulma’s safe.

So as Mai and Shuu stood guard, Pilaf pulled open the massive door to Bulma Briefs’ safe. Technology that could change the world filled the room on every side (there was a cake there, too, for some reason), but what he sought sat directly ahead of him, atop a pedestal: seven orange spheres, each small enough to fit in the palm of a normal human’s hand, each with between one to seven red stars in their center.

They were the Dragonballs, mystical artifacts that, when gathered together, could quite literally make wishes come true. Pilaf had been after the Dragonballs -- and the world domination they could grant him -- for years upon years, and finally seeing them laying before him filled him with mixed emotions. Joy, of course, but also worry -- he remembered the _last_ time he had gathered the Dragonballs, only to have his wish stolen out from under him by a _pig_ , of all people. He couldn’t let that happen again!

Yet, Pilaf also felt anger. When he’d first come across Goku and his friends, gathering the Dragonballs had been a quest, an adventure for the ages, but as the years passed, he’d watched them gather the Dragonballs time and time again, each time faster and more effortlessly than the last. He’d seen the news, and knew that obviously _they_ were responsible for stopping Cell (not that preening nincompoop, Hercule), and knew they’d been using the Dragonballs to clean up the messes they made in the process. If Pilaf were a more noble being -- or a less narcissistic one -- maybe he’d see the honor in their battles, but all he saw was a group of elites hoarding the world’s most powerful resource -- a resource that should be helping _him_ \-- in order to keep their little team from ever facing any real consequences for their actions.

Lord, was he tired of it.

So it was with elation that Pilaf held out his arms, and the Dragonballs began to glow.

“Eternal Dragon, by your name, I summon you forth: Shenron!”

The blinding light emanating from the spheres erupted, streaking into the air and spiraling to and fro throughout the dome-shaped interior of the massive safe. As Pilaf clung to the pedestal, struggling not to be blown away by the sheer force of the Dragonballs’ power, Shenron, the Eternal Dragon, emerged from the light. Normally his long, serpentine form filled the sky, but now he found himself contained within Bulma’s surprisingly sturdy structure, his body cramped into tight coils. He frowned, huffing in frustration, the burst of breath rustling the tendrils that served as his ‘mustache’ and, once again, nearly blowing Pilaf away.

“You have summoned the Eternal Dragon. I will grant you three wishes. But please,” requested Shenron wearily, eyeing the tight quarters, “Make them quick.”

Pilaf eagerly pulled a notecard from his pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. ‘World domination’ would have been an easy wish to remember, but it wasn’t the wish he was making today. No, his plan required something more complex, and he wouldn’t dare leave it in the hands of his historically bad luck (or, though he would never admit it, his own general incompetence).

“I wish that my brain had perfect recall, and could hold infinite amounts of information!”

Shenron’s eyes, for a brief moment, glew red. “Your wish has been granted.”

Giggling deviously, Pilaf once again almost dropped his notecard before composing himself. “I wish to know _everything_! Cram every bit of knowledge and history from every possible universe and timeline directly into my mind!”

Again Shenron’s eyes flashed red, but Pilaf never heard him speak; his mind was too busy spinning away as impossible amounts of information flooded his perfect brain. Though it took only a moment, Pilaf felt like he spent an eternity unable to breathe or think as fact after fact after fact assaulted him, searing their way into his consciousness, transforming him irrevocably. The strain would have killed him if not for his first wish, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t pray for death once or twice throughout the onslaught of knowledge.

“Make your final wish!” demanded poor Shenron, his entire body starting to cramp and seize up, his voice finally cutting through the haze in Pilaf’s head. He dropped his notecard; there was no third wish listed, just a reminder to trust his newfound knowledge to guide him towards the perfect final request.

Before he could speak, though, he was interrupted by screams and accusations. Two young boys -- dressed in frosting-stained tuxedos, their blonde hair spiked, surrounded by blazing golden auras of energy -- came flying through the safe’s doors, dragging Mai and Shuu behind them.

Pilaf didn’t need his infinite knowledge to know that he couldn’t physically overcome them; where it helped was in coming up with a different solution. Psychic powers were something every human had the potential for, but Pilaf’s perfected brain combined with his now complete knowledge made them a natural fit for him -- and made him far more powerful than a typical user. Blood trickled from his nose as he held out both hands, and the two boys were immediately frozen in place, their charge halted in an instant. Mai and Shuu fell from their grip, staring at their master in such utter shock that they didn’t even notice when they hit the ground.

“Uh-oh,” said the boys in unison, before they were suddenly thrown backwards by a burst of telekinetic power. Blood gushed like geysers from both of Pilaf’s nostrils, the force blowing him off his feet, yet he cackled hysterically the entire time. As he stood, he saw that the boys had not only been thrown back through the door to the safe, but driven through half a dozen walls and the very foundation of the compound, right into the thick of the wedding celebration outside!

Pilaf cheered his own newfound power, until he saw half the wedding’s guests staring at him through the new tunnel he’d inadvertently created. Several auras burst to life. Pilaf swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat with an audible ‘gulp.’

Shenron again demanded that Pilaf make his final wish, but he needn’t have bothered; Pilaf already knew it was his only chance of surviving this. “I wish for the following: an infinite micro-battery from universe 69, a sculpting wand from universe 390, and a compact copy of the complete multiversal archive from universe 0 itself!”

“Your wish has been granted.” Shenron’s eyes flashed one final time, and the items appeared out of thin air, falling to the ground right at Pilaf’s feet. Shenron bid him farewell, dissipating into the same incandescent light that had first formed him, but Pilaf paid it no mind. Goku -- that blasted Goku! -- and his friends had already taken flight, and he had only a few precious seconds to act if he was going to save himself.

With the flick of a wrist, Pilaf telekinetically pulled Mai and Shuu across the floor and to his side. With his other hand he had finished assembling the items he had requested of the Eternal Dragon; together they created a wand, its point sparking and glowing with a mysterious energy.

Once Shenron had vanished, the seven Dragonballs, having reverted to stone now that their power had been used, burst into the air. Propelled by powerful beams of white light, they were about to scatter randomly across the entire Earth, where they would normally remain for a year before regaining their power; strangely, though, their ascent slowed, then stopped completely. Finally they were pulled to the ground, the seven stones landing in Mai and Shuu’s laps thanks to their master’s prodigious mental prowess.

Pilaf ignored his lackey’s grunts of pain; instead he span, dragging the tip of his wand across the floor in a circular pattern and leaving behind it, carved into the ground, a trail of the wand’s bizarre energy. Once the circle was completed the floor contained within it disappeared entirely, replaced with what looked like an opening to another place, perhaps even another universe, entirely! Mai, Shuu, the seven stones that had once been the Dragonballs, and Pilaf himself all fell through the portal.

“So long, suckers!” jeered Pilaf, sticking out his tongue and pulling down his eyelid; the instant he had cleared the doorway it shut behind him, the portal fading away as suddenly and miraculously as it had appeared.

Pilaf was gone.

Son Goku, who had been been only inches away from Pilaf, instead flew face first into the stone pillar that had once held the Dragonballs; he tumbled across the floor, a massive welt growing on his forehead. Gohan landed at his father’s side, helping him to his feet, with Vegeta and Piccolo only seconds behind him. Piccolo looked the safe up and down, slowly taking in everything he’d just seen, and all the wreckage it had left in its wake, looking for answers. Vegeta wasn’t as contemplative, nor as patient. “What the hell just happened?”

“That weird little blue guy stole the Dragonballs!” cried Trunks as he and Goten made their way back into the safe.

“And beat you in the process, I see.” Vegeta glared at his son in clear disapproval; Trunks clenched his fists, bit his lip, and turned his head away from his father.

“What the _hell_ happened to my safe?!” Chi Chi and Yamcha were unable to contain Bulma, who was practically roaring as she burst from their grip and rushed into Capsule Corp, followed closely by their rest of their friends. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she saw the damage Pilaf -- and the Eternal Dragon -- had left in their wake.

“My Dragonballs!” she cried. “My inventions!” Bulma continued to survey the aftermath, until she saw one particular loss that rocked her to her very core. “My _cake_!”

Goten burst into tears.

Piccolo wiped his hand across the pedestal where the Dragonballs had once sat. “If he has the Dragonballs, he could do almost _anything_. We have no way of knowing what this villain’s plan is, or how dangerous he might be. We know _nothing_.” Piccolo _hated_ knowing nothing.

With that proclamation, Vegeta suddenly burst out laughing. The others were taken aback; Bulma shot a look his way that could have killed Buu dead, but Vegeta paid none of them any mind. Still cackling, he made his way to Goku, smacking him on the back, then resting his hand on his fellow Saiyan’s shoulder.

“So much for ‘peace,’ eh Kakkorot?”

*****FIVE YEARS LATER*****

High above the Earth, far above the clouds, hidden from most of humanity, floated Kami’s Lookout. The base -- consisting of an ornate palace and an expansive, white-tiled courtyard atop a dome-like structure, each filled with items and areas far beyond mankind’s understanding -- was the home to the guardian deity of the Earth, but the figure who now sat only inches from the courtyard’s edge, legs crossed, eyes closed, his cape flapping behind him in the wind, wasn’t a deity at all.

Oh, sure, there was a _part_ of Piccolo that had once been Kami, the Guardian of the Earth -- maybe that’s even why he now found so much peace atop the Lookout. But what brought Piccolo peace on this day wasn’t a connection to his past, but the new future he found himself a part of. Today was the day. The day he looked forward to every month. The day where he gets to be a part of Son Gohan’s family. The day he gets to spend with his _goddaughter_.

Piccolo’s mind was so focused on the rest of his day that he didn’t even notice his attacker until it had already driven a knee into his face.

He was sent sprawling, purple blood gushing from his nose, but Piccolo righted himself in mid-air, landing on his feet and immediately facing his attacker. The creature that stood before him was probably seven feet tall, humanoid, its body covered in sleek black metal with orange highlights around its joints. It had no face, just a viewscreen covering the front of its head, blank but for a small green light in its bottom corner. It was clearly powerful if it made it all the way up to the Lookout, but Piccolo could sense no chi coming from the creature -- it had to be some sort of robot!

The robot charged him, throwing a left hook that Piccolo strafed beside, countering with a straight shot to its chest. The hit knocked the machine back a few feet, but seemed to do more damage to Piccolo’s fist than anything -- he’d attacked a lot of enemies stronger than him, but had never punched something that _hard_ before! Piccolo’s attacker took advantage of the situation, walloping him on the side of the head with a two-handed swing, knocking him to his knees. It lunged for another strike, but Piccolo managed to raise an arm and block the hit before spinning, extending a leg and sweeping the robot’s feet right out from under it. Before it could recover, Piccolo launched a roundhouse kick that sent the machine tumbling away from him.

Piccolo unhinged his jaw, unleashing an unwieldy blast of chi from his throat that quickly overtook the machine. If it was capable of looking worried, it certainly didn’t now; tumbling onto its feet and facing Piccolo’s attack head-on, it simply extended an arm and swatted the blast aside. Then its right hand unfolded, sliding down its forearm, creating a cannon. The robot aimed, and Piccolo prepared to move, but what fired out of the cannon wasn’t energy, or even bullets -- it was a massive net, sparking with orange electricity.

A net?! It was the last thing Piccolo was expecting, and he couldn’t help feeling good about it. This thing wanted him _alive_ ; he could work with that. Chi burst to life around his flattened palm, taking the shape of a blade, and Piccolo swung his hand upwards, slicing straight through the net.

“I don’t have time for this!” shouted Piccolo. It was true, of course, but this wasn’t Piccolo letting his frustrations get the best of him -- he never did that. No, he had a _plan_. “I’m meeting with Goku and Gohan soon. In fact, they’re probably already wondering where I am. I wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up any second, looking for me!”

Upon hearing that, the robot took a step backwards, finally betraying a bit of emotion. It was exactly what Piccolo was hoping for. He was almost certain that it was Pilaf behind this attack -- after reviewing the security footage from Bulma’s safe and realizing who exactly had ransacked it and what he had wished for, Piccolo had been waiting patiently for five full years for his return. He knew that Pilaf both hated and feared Goku more than anything else. Piccolo couldn’t sense any other chi signatures flaring up down below, so he figured that Pilaf must have targeted him first (although he certainly didn’t understand _why_ ), and he suspected that the threat of Goku might just make his opponent turn tail, or at least give him an opening he could use.

Piccolo gave it a second, playing it cool as always, waiting to see the robot’s next move. It stood perfectly still for the briefest of moments, and then the green light on its viewscreen turned red -- and suddenly it charged forward, twice as fast as before, its feet tearing up the tile beneath it through the sheer power of its stride. Before Piccolo could even react the machine had planted a fist in his gut, completely knocking the wind out of him. He crumpled to the ground.

The robot kicked Piccolo into the air before launching into an all-out assault with its fists, turning Piccolo into its own personal punching bag. He tried to block at first, managing to deflect maybe every two or three punches, but the effort quickly grew to be too much to sustain. Each punch rained down on him harder than the last; just as Piccolo thought he was going to black out, he found himself lifted into the air by his neck.

“J-just tell me,” he said, gasping for air, “W-why me? I’m n-not the...the most p-powerful. Why...attack me first?”

Maybe it was a last-ditch effort on Piccolo’s behalf, a desperate attempt to find some chance to escape, but on some level, he needed to know the truth, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

“You are right,” responded the robot, finally speaking. Its voice was soft, tinny and robotic, and completely devoid of any emotion or feeling. “You are not the strongest, but you are the _smartest_ of them all. That is why you are so dangerous. That is why you must die.”

The cannon on the machine’s right arm started to glow orange, energy gathering deep within. Piccolo struggled, but the robot’s hand was absolutely unyielding, clamped so hard around his throat that he could never possibly escape. He could only watch in horror as the robot placed the barrel of its cannon against his chest.

And just like that, a massive beam of orange energy shot from the cannon, straight through Piccolo’s heart, and off into the stratosphere. His body hit the ground with a thud.

One down, one to go.

_Is this really the end for Piccolo? What sick plans does Pilaf have in store for Goku and his friends? Just what have they all been up to these last five years, anyway? Find out next time, on Dragonball: Alternate Evil!_


End file.
